I laughed. ‘My mum and dad always said the only difference between their marriage and the Thirty Years’ War was that the war was over.’
Mrs Harper turned from the table to smile, and I could see her smile meant, That is exactly the kind of thing Beth would say, bless her.
‘So when do I get started?’ the Australian asked.
‘First you must meditate for an hour, then someone will take you to hear the Dhamma Service Discourse.’
Nobody volunteered. We were scraping our plates.
‘Beth,’ Mrs Harper asked, ‘when was the last time you heard the Service Discourse?’
The Letter
Dearest Susie,
I wonder if there is any point in my writing to you.
IN MY ROOM I unfolded the letter. I knew I would. Aside from Vikram’s recipes and the Dhammapada, I hadn’t read anything since the last text messages with Jonathan and Carl. I’d been happy for my head to be empty. Now it is going to be filled again.
Dearest Susie,
I wonder if there is any point in my writing to you. It’s axiomatic, I suppose, that a twenty-two-year-old in love is blind to reason.
Axiomatic?
Nothing I can say is going to change your mind. Anything negative I try to tell you about Sean will only increase your determination to be with him and your distrust of me.
So what can I say?
I want you to know that if your mother and I are anxious for you, it is because we love you. We really do. It’s not true that we are obsessed by money and security. We just fear that one day you will regret throwing away such a huge opportunity. Then you’ll find yourself hating Sean for having taken you away from your vocation. You’ve worked all your life for this. In fact, I can’t understand why he isn’t telling you to accept and wait until life together doesn’t have to come at the expense of your career.
It’s not true that we were against Sean from the start. Not many parents would jump for joy to see their daughter in love with a man with such a serious problem. But we did recognize that you were in love, and I must say it’s been very beautiful to see you that way, rather as if all the spotlights had been turned up full on your shining face. You’re a marvellous girl, Susie, a fantastic daughter. We made Sean welcome. He’s eaten with us, slept over many times. But from the moment you announced that you were giving up everything to be near a man who has only himself to blame for what’s happened, we could no longer see this relationship favourably.
It is damaging you and it could destroy you.
You say that age doesn’t matter and that there’s a hell of a gap between myself and your mother too. All I can say is, that gap has mattered. There have been times when both of us have wished
The letter stopped. Damn. Just when it was getting interesting. Or, rather, it changed, it stopped being a letter. The neat, I’m-a-reasonable-guy handwriting broke off. Two lines had been crossed out, pretty violently, then it was all scrawl.
Tell the little idiot you won’t have the cash to bail her out this time.
Tell her it’s making her mother ill.
Tell her Sean doesn’t give a shit for anyone but himself. Otherwise he would never have been driving drunk.
Tell her if she drops him I’ll
No. The opposite. Tell her I’d give my right arm to be in love the way she is. My right arm. I envy her. I’d give anything to be as mad as she is now. She’s mad. She’s lucky. To be able to give up everything.
The truth is you hate yourself even more than you hate L.
Tell her bankruptcy will be comic relief compared with the rest.
Exhausted exhausted exhausted exhausted exhausted exhausted.
EXHAUSTED.
If you’d asked me a year ago, Can things get worse? I’d have said no.
L keeps me to punish me.
Or for supposed financial security?
OH PLEASE DO GO OVER THE WHOLE FUCKING NIGHTMARE FOR THE TEN MILLIONTH TIME.
The age gap with the older man is not the same as the age gap with the older woman. You and T.
Married now. You wanted T married. Can you believe that? You made her marry. Idiot.
What have you become? A worm? A snake? How did it happen?
You came here to avoid killing yourself.
Melodrama. Yawn.
Or killing her.
Alas impossible. Despite all the murder stories.
Kristin had come in. When I looked up she turned away.
‘I’m reading a letter.’ I waved it.
No one reads letters at the Dasgupta. Not during retreats. In the remote event of a letter arriving, it’s held back till the ten days are up.
Kristin lay on the slats of her bed, put her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. I stopped reading and turned on an elbow. She’s taller than me and broader, makes you think of words like ‘sturdy’, ‘staunch’, ‘stalwart’. Why do I like her? We haven’t even spoken.
‘Stttart-tagain!’ I said, imitating Dasgupta’s guided meditations. ‘With a caaalm and quiet mind.’
She stayed blank.
Stolid.
‘Does your boyfriend know you’re here, Kristin?’
She didn’t reply.
Steadfast.
‘What was so funny when I said that about getting razzled?’
Her skin is pale and solemn.
‘What’s your position on age gaps in relationships? I mean, could you ever see yourself with someone as old as Harper? Do you get a lot of that in Latvia? An older man can be fun. They have more cash.’
Nothing.
‘This letter’s from my dad. He reckons I’m screwing up completely staying here. Throwing my life away. He wants me to come home. Says he loves me.’ I laughed. ‘Can you imagine?’
Nothing. Noble Silence.
‘Speaking of which, I’d love a foot massage. Want to try? Me on you, you on me?’
She knew I was provoking her. Touching is forbidden at the Dasgupta. I wondered if she’d report me. No. Meredith might, but Kristin is different. She lay very still, on her back, her hands along her sides, palms upward.
‘Be vvery vvvigilant.’ I mimicked Dasgupta again, sighing deeply. ‘Vvery aware. Vvery aware.’
The corner of her mouth curled slightly.
‘Alllert and att-ttentive. With a balllanced, eqquanimous mind,’ I tried to do his deep Indian voice. ‘Eqquanimous mind, eqquanimous mind, eqqqqquanimous mind.’
Her eyelids quivered. She was smiling.
‘If you are experiencing a free flow of subtle sensations, let your mind sweep freely across your whole body. If you find an area of pain, make an objective note. Pain. Pain. Not my pain. If you feel the little mouse that’s crawling over your blanket towards your chin, make an objective note. Mouse. Mouse. Not my—’
‘No!’ Kristin sat bolt upright. The slats creaked. ‘Where?’
Laughing, I gathered my dirty laundry, blessed her and went out.
Strong Determination
I LOVE THE way wet cotton clings to your fingers. I was next to one of the meditators. A Chinese woman. We scrubbed our clothes in adjacent sinks. Five pairs of pants. I like watching them change colour when you plunge them into the water. Wetness makes them dark, but see-through too. I can see the pinkness of my fingers through the fabric. The Chinese woman sighs wringing out her jeans. Sometimes the meditators get on my nerves. They’re so proud of their big Dasgupta experience, their vows and visions. Sometimes I love being around them. Their heavy silence pulls you in. There’s a clinginess to it, like cottony wetness. The more you don’t talk to the stranger beside you, the closer you feel to her.